Chemical Bonding
by consultingpathologist
Summary: Sherlock spends his nights at Molly's while Janine stays over at Baker Street. But as they grow closer, his fear of love threatens to ruin their relationship. Set during S3E3.
1. Chapter 1

_Drugs?!_ That bastard.

She was fuming. If there hadn't been other people around, she would have had a lot more to say to him.

After everything they'd been through, he had to do _that_.

Not only did he go against his word, but he also had to make that comment about her broken engagement. _Now_ he decided to bring it up. _Now_.

He just stood there not even trying to stop the blows. He knew what he was doing was wrong and he did it anyways. That's what made her most angry. He knew it would make her furious and he _still did it_. It was as if he was trying to break them apart. That dazed look pissed her off. She wanted to slap it right off his face. How dare he get high. _How dare he_. She wanted to wake him up and make him realize what he was doing to the people that love him.

Why did he constantly fight against love? What was he so afraid of?

* * *

><p><em>A Few Days Earlier…<em>

"Molly?"

She heard the door slam. Sherlock apparently didn't believe in knocking on doors. He preferred barging through them. Maybe it was her own fault for allowing it. Whenever Sherlock texted that he was coming over, Molly would unlock the door for him. But she still had expected him to ring the doorbell like a normal human being. He never did. The first time she had been listening for his arrival when all of a sudden he had just burst through the door scaring her half to death. One of these times she was going to keep it locked just to teach him a lesson. By now, however, she had grown used to his need for dramatic entrances. In fact, there were many things about Sherlock that she had grown used to: the way he threw his coat over the chair upon entering the room, the way he combed his hand through his hair when he was deep in thought, his deep laughter that echoed in his throat. That last one had surprised her the most. His laughter was something she would never tire of hearing. These were all the kinds of peculiarities that only couples knew about one another. Sherlock no doubt had picked up on her own unique idiosyncrasies given how much time they had spent together.

"I'm in here."

Molly had just gotten off work and was in her bedroom changing into her pajamas. It was always the first thing she did when she got home after feeding Toby, who was priority number one. Her once cute and tiny orange kitten was now a fat, spoiled housecat that demanded to be fed as soon as she walked in the door. When Toby heard Sherlock enter, he had jumped off her bed and raced to greet him. It was amusing to watch the two of them interact. Toby had taken a liking to Sherlock for reasons unknown to Molly. Sherlock mostly pretended to ignore him, but Molly would often catch him scratching Toby's head. She could tell he had a secret fondness for animals even if he might not admit it. Toby had never really liked Tom, no matter how much affection he had tried to show. Sherlock, of all people, had unearthed the secret to Toby's affection. Apparently Toby was like one of those wild horses that were tamed by brief moments of gentleness followed by walking away. He would sit next to Sherlock whenever possible, begging for him to scratch his stomach and occasionally was rewarded. Molly started to think Toby preferred Sherlock to herself, even though she was the one feeding him.

"Ungrateful cat," she muttered under her breath and smiled as he ran out of the room. She could never stay mad at him. Toby had gotten her through so much. He was the one constant male in her life. He'd been there for her at her loneliest time when Sherlock had been gone for two years. He'd been there through her last two failed relationships. A sudden memory of Jim sitting on her couch watching Glee crossed her mind. She shuddered at the thought. That night Toby had hid under her bed. He had known something was suspicious about Jim all along.

Trying to erase Moriarty from her mind, Molly pulled on her most comfortable pajama pants and an oversize t-shirt. Jim was now a distant memory and she had moved on with her life. She had Sherlock back and was determined to enjoy herself.

These nights they shared together had started to feel like a normal routine. This was the seventh (or was it eighth?) night that Janine had stayed over forcing Sherlock to take refuge at Molly's. Sherlock had evidently told Janine that he often gets urgent calls that need his immediate attention. Molly knew that Janine was not stupid. She had met her at John and Mary's wedding and while they didn't interact much, Janine seemed like an intelligent and confident woman. Surely by now she was getting suspicious about Sherlock always leaving when she happened to stay over. Most men wouldn't be avoiding sex. Sherlock seemed to think he had the situation under control and brushed off Molly's worries about the case, but she wondered if this was due to his relationship inexperience. She wasn't sure if he had ever slept with anyone, or much less dated someone. There was an innocence about him that hinted at possible virginity, but she wasn't quite sure. In any case, she knew that this was not his strength, and that, perhaps, he didn't really understand the situation as well as he thought he did. Molly could only hope that the case would be over soon, for everyone's sakes.

The doorbell rang breaking her train of thought.

"Sherlock, can you get that? It's the pizza. There's some cash on the table by the door" Molly shouted.

This was another part of their routine: food and telly. Sometimes they got pizza, sometimes Indian. Sometimes Sherlock would bring Chinese and would proceed to teach her how to judge the quality of the restaurant by their door handle. Molly in return was teaching Sherlock about the fine art of television. They'd watched nature documentaries, crime dramas (Sherlock had to point out each and every flaw so that didn't last long), food competitions, reality shows about rich housewives, and tonight she was planning on watching a football game.

Molly quickly braided her hair and hurried out of her room, suddenly fearful for what Sherlock was saying to the delivery person.

Walking into the living room, she discovered she was right to be worried. Sherlock was lecturing the poor teenager about the fastest route to get to Molly's flat.

"That's ridiculous. Where do they teach you these things? You can't go…"

"Sherlock!" Molly gave him an angry look and shoved him aside before turning to the annoyed looking boy.

"I'm so, so sorry. Here have some more tip." She grabbed some cash from the untouched money on the table.

The teenager mumbled a "thanks", gave Sherlock a dirty look, and took off as fast as possible.

"Have a great night!" Molly yelled after him, hoping to repair some of the damage. Slamming the door, she turned to face a suddenly innocent looking Sherlock. Sometimes she wondered if he had ever really grown out of his adolescence.

"Sherlock! That poor kid doesn't want to listen to you." She swat at his arm.

"What? If they want to provide the best service, than they should at least know what the best routes are. I was doing him a favor."

Molly rolled her eyes and headed to the kitchen. She needed wine.

She poured two glasses and then added a little more to hers. One thing she had discovered on his first visit was that Sherlock didn't handle alcohol well. He rarely drank. Normally he was trying to keep his mind sharp, so when he did drink, the alcohol affected him more. The first night they spent together, Sherlock had gotten tipsy after one glass of wine. Somehow they had ended up stumbling around her flat holding hands. Sherlock supposedly had been giving her dance lessons. Molly felt more like she had been holding him up while he was spinning her around in circles.

"Screw it." Molly grabbed the two glasses along with the whole bottle and wandered back to the living room. Depending on how the night went, it might come in handy.

Sherlock had already turned on the telly and was flipping through the channels. She laughed to herself at how she had corrupted him.

"Thanks for paying, by the way. You didn't have to." She nodded towards the money on the table. Sherlock had surprised her on multiple occasions by doing nice things, proving that he could be a gentleman.

"Molly, I'm crashing at your flat to hide from a woman. The least I could do is pay for dinner."

"Well, that's true." She handed Sherlock his glass of wine and sat down on the couch next to him.

"My mother did teach me a thing or two, you know."

"Yes and you just generally choose not to use them. I would love to meet your mother and tell her about some of the things you do."

"Hmm. " Sherlock looked like he was considering the possibility. "She would like you."

Molly gulped down her wine. She may have been teasing him, but she did really want to meet his parents. Who were these people who raised Sherlock and Mycroft? They must be fascinating. The stories they must have!

"Football tonight." She grabbed the remote from him, ignoring his protests, and switched channels.

They ate, drank, and talked about their work, with Molly occasionally interrupting to yell at one of the players. It was so comfortable between them. Their conversations flowed so easily. Molly could almost imagine this as real life. She felt like she was dating Sherlock Holmes. Except in reality, she was the Other Woman. Janine was the real girlfriend and Molly was the woman he was cheating with. It was almost funny, the ridiculousness of the whole charade. But it also made her heart ache. It showed her the possibility of what could be. This could be real. They could make it work. Surely Sherlock could see what they had. Why would he choose to stay in her flat if he didn't enjoy their time together? It gave her hope for the future. She was ready for the case to be over so they could move on to the next stage of their relationship.

Tom had never been mentioned during these nights. Molly knew that Sherlock could see her lack of engagement ring, but he never commented on it and she never brought it up. It was as if Tom had just vanished into thin air. Molly wanted to tell Sherlock, but it didn't feel right with their current situation. She was waiting to talk to him until the situation with Janine was over. That day at Baker Street that made it clear that she had to end her engagement was too much to bring up while Sherlock was dating someone else, real or not. Once this case was over, she would tell Sherlock about her feelings for him. No more skirting around the topic. No more unspoken words. She was ready to tell him what he meant to her. She was ready to say those three little words.

The game ended and Sherlock switched off the telly. They were both stuffed with pizza and slightly buzzed from alcohol. This was usually the time when Sherlock either left or went to her bedroom. They had agreed that he would sleep best in her room where there was more space. The couch was too cramped to accommodate his height and somehow the idea of the spare room was never brought up. This night, however, he made no motion to get up. It felt as though neither wanted to leave the comfort of the couch or each other's presence.

The room had become dark and still. Molly felt her eyelids grow heavy. In her hazy half-awake state of mind, she felt Sherlock's hand reach over and cover her own.

Molly woke up sometime during the night. Somehow she had ended up with her head on Sherlock's shoulder and he was resting his head against hers. Toby was sleeping in between their legs.

The warmth of his body embraced Molly, radiating throughout her insides. She had never had this much physical contact with him before. With his lean body and angular features, Sherlock didn't seem like someone to snuggle up with, but he was surprisingly soft and comforting. His long limbs provided ample room to wrap up in. The pulse in his neck beat against her temple, syncing with her own. Molly felt a sense of contentment wrap around her heart that she hadn't in a long time.

Slowly, she sat up, trying not to disturb him. He gave a faint, sleepy groan and repositioned his head against the back of the sofa. Molly couldn't help but watch him sleep. His chest rose and fell. His long arm was lazily draped against the top of the sofa, almost inviting her to rest against it. His crossed legs were stretched onto the coffee table. His glossy dark curls shined in the moonlight that streamed through the curtains. His mouth was slightly open and she could hear his deep breaths, lulling her back to sleep. Toby slept curled against his leg purring contentedly.

He looked like he belonged there.

Unable to resist, Molly leaned against his shoulder once more. He made another small noise and once again rested his head onto hers. She felt his arm lower against her shoulders and draw her body closer to him. She wrapped her arm across his middle hugging him tightly, not wanting to let this moment go. Not wanting to let _him_ go.

She tried to stay awake, savoring the feeling for as long as possible. But sleep would not allow her that pleasure.

Waking up the next morning, Molly realized that was alone on the sofa. Sherlock must have placed a blanket over her when he got up. For a split second, she thought he had left like the other mornings he had stayed over, but a noise in the flat told her otherwise.

Wrapping herself in the blanket, she stumbled into the kitchen. Without the warmth of his body, the room was quite chilly.

Sherlock was sitting at the table reading the newspaper and drinking coffee.

"Morning," she mumbled shyly. What was going through his head after he woke up and found them wrapped in each other's arms? He looked serious and kept his eyes focused on her as she poured herself coffee and made toast.

"Molly, have you heard of Charles Augustus Magnussen?" He waited to speak until she had sat down opposite him at the table. It appeared they were not going to talk about last night.

Molly thought for a minute. The name sounded familiar.

"Doesn't he own a bunch of newspapers?"

Sherlock nodded. "He's the person who is blackmailing my client, Lady Smallwood. Janine is his PA."

So this wasn't some small case.

"But isn't he pretty powerful? Sherlock, this sounds more dangerous than I thought."

"I've got a plan. I'm going to be in one of the papers: Sherlock Holmes Discovered in a Drug Den." He waved his hand pretending he was writing the headline.

"What?"

"It's perfect, Molly. Everyone will think I'm back on drugs and Magnussen will have no idea I'm coming for him."

"Sherlock, no. Not with your history." Molly couldn't believe this. She knew bits and pieces about his former drug use. It seemed like a dangerous way for him to throw someone off the scent.

"I'm not actually going to be _using_ drugs. But as long as everyone thinks I am, then they'll never suspect that I've been working on a case."

"Sherlock, the temptation will be there. I've seen people who have been clean for years that start using again for reasons a lot less minor than this. I'm a _doctor_. There is no way I would agree with putting yourself in that sort of situation. It's not safe. There has to be another way."

"Luckily, it's not your case," he spoke through gritted teeth.

_How dare he_. They had been working on this case together from the start, or so she had thought before he sprung all this new information on her. Now suddenly Sherlock wanted to go off on his own.

"I think you should leave."

"What? Molly, I…"

"Go. Now. Please." It was her turn to grit her teeth.

"I'm not…"

"Sherlock, if you're going to do your own thing, than I can't stop you. But don't think for a second that I approve of what you're doing."

"Do I need your approval?" He glared at her.

"Obviously not." She glared right back.

Sherlock's eyes flickered. Molly though she saw a brief wave of sadness pass over his face. He started to open his mouth and Molly thought he was about to apologize. Instead, he spun around, grabbed his coat and marched out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Molly felt like punching something. Everything had been going so well. What they had shared last night had been wonderful and now _this_. Something about Sherlock had changed this morning. Whenever their relationship seemed to be making progress, he found a way to ruin what they had built. It felt like they were always taking one step forward and two steps backward.

Molly didn't hear anything for the next few days. She waited for him to call and apologize, but he didn't. She picked up her phone on several occasions to call him, but she couldn't dial the number without feeling anger and hurt all over again.

Then one morning at work she received a call from John.

"Molly? I've got Sherlock. He's going to be needing to pee in a jar." There was a groan in the background.

She slammed the phone down. In a way, she was looking forward to this. She was finally going to have the chance to take all of her hurt and anger out on him. Everything she had been holding inside for so long was going to be let out once and for all.

Sherlock Holmes was about to meet the wrath of Molly Hooper.


	2. Chapter 2

Molly climbed into bed not caring how early it was. She lay back on the pillow and stared into the darkness. Some co-workers had invited her to the pub with them, but the last thing she wanted right now was to be around other people. It had been the worst day. Word had spread around the hospital about her confrontation with Sherlock and all day long Molly had heard whispers behind her back. A few people had even seemed congratulatory as though they would have liked to slap Sherlock at various times in their dealings with him. She had spent the rest of the day trying to distract herself with work and avoiding conversations. Thankfully, she had a stack of paperwork that had been piling up on her desk, so she shut herself in her office until she was needed in the morgue. At the end of the day, all she wanted to do was go home and be alone. She thought she would have felt better after taking out her anger, but she didn't. She just felt empty. Sherlock had texted multiple "sorry" messages and had tried calling her, but she didn't answer and deleted the voice mail. It felt too soon. She needed time to gather her thoughts before speaking with him or she feared she would get angry all over again. Once her rage had subsided, she couldn't stop thinking about that look on Sherlock's face. Was it regret? He had accepted his punishment as if he had been waiting for it. The texts he had sent proved that had felt guilty and wanted to apologize. Once things calmed down she planned on having a long discussion with him. They needed to get everything out in the open.

With this bit of reassurance, Molly managed to drift to sleep only to wake up an hour later with a strange sensation. A feeling of dread had suddenly taken a hold of her and burned like a hole in her chest. She felt panic creep up the back her throat and tried to swallow to force it back down. Perhaps she had been having a nightmare, but she didn't remember any specific aspect of a dream. The feeling was not going away even though she was now fully awake. Toby usually slept at the end of her bed, but tonight he had moved close to her as though he could sense something was wrong too. Lying still for a long time, she tried to figure out what was causing this feeling. When nothing came to mind, she got up and walked around the flat. Nothing seemed amiss. There were no intruders. Her flat wasn't on fire. She looked out the window only to see that everything on the street was calm. She tried to relax by doing some yoga stretches and breathing exercises, but the feeling remained.

Something was wrong. But what was it?

Molly felt a sudden desire to hear Sherlock's voice. She needed to hear that familiar baritone tell her that nothing was wrong, that she was imagining things. Perhaps the stress resulting from their conversation was causing these feelings. She may still be angry with him, but maybe they could talk about it. Her anger didn't cause the love she had for him to disappear.

Molly went back to her room for her phone. The call went to his voice mail. It was still early, only around 10:00. Surely he would still be awake. She knew he often stayed up late due to some after midnight phone calls she had received from him in the past. She tried his number again. Still voice mail. She sent a text: _Need to talk. Call me. - Molly. _No calls came so she climbed back into her bed with her phone and waited. Twenty minutes passed. Then an hour. Then two hours. Sherlock never took this long to reply.

Molly tried to shake off the feeling that the panic she felt was somehow connected to his sudden absence. Sherlock was just busy with his case and she was just stressed from the day's events. She tried closing her eyes again, but she couldn't get rid of the lump in her throat. Something was off. Where was Sherlock? Eventually, she drifted back to sleep.

Her phone woke her. The alarm clock read 2:25. She grabbed her phone from the nightstand expecting to see Sherlock's name, but it wasn't him calling. It was John. Her heart thudded in her chest. John didn't usually call unless something was wrong, like the previous morning.

"Hello? Molly?" His voice sounded far away.

"John, what's the matter?"

"Molly…I don't know how to tell you…Sherlock's been shot…"

Molly gasped, the panic feeling intensified.

"He just got out of surgery. He's doing better than the doctors originally thought. They think he's going to make a full recovery, but he's going to be kept sedated for a day or two." John sounded like he was in shock as well. He spoke in stilted sentences like he was trying to come to terms with what just happened to his best friend.

"Where are you?"

"St. Thomas'."

"I'll be there soon."

"Remember he's not going to be awake…"

"I know. I still want to be there."

"Molly…He's strong. He'll make it through this." John's voice slightly faltered. He sounded as if he was trying to soothe himself just as much as her.

"I know."

She grabbed a jacket and ran out the door, not even bothering to change out of her pyjamas.

Despite the lateness of the hour, she managed to quickly hail a cab. Jumping in to the back, she told the driver to hurry and anxiously peered out the window. She stared blindly at the sights of London that passed her by. Her only thoughts were focused on the condition of the man she loved that awaited her at the hospital.

* * *

><p>John was waiting for her at the emergency room entrance. His eyes were bloodshot and his forehead was wrinkled with worry. A cloud of anxious energy hung about him, but he looked relieved to see a familiar face. Molly couldn't help but give him a quick hug when she saw his forlorn appearance. He informed her that Sherlock was being placed in a room in the ICU. They sat down to wait in stiff plastic chairs. Moments of silence passed between them as they gathered their thoughts, both still in shock at the day's events. John's phone broke the quiet with a text from Mary. He explained to Molly that she had been out of town for a night and she had just seen the message John had sent regarding Sherlock.<p>

After taking a deep breath, John began to tell Molly about what had transpired. They had entered Magnussen's office and found Janine and a security guard knocked unconscious. Sherlock suspected that someone else had been there before them because he picked up the scent of a certain brand of perfume. Sherlock went into Magnussen's office while John stood guard outside. John waited a few minutes before entering and found Magnussen knocked out and Sherlock lying on his back, bleeding from his chest with a gunshot wound. There was no gun to be found so whoever had been in the office with them had shot Sherlock and managed to leave before John entered. He called 999, but the ambulance arrived only minutes later. Someone else had alerted them first.

After waiting an hour, at last a nurse came to bring them to Sherlock.

Molly tried to keep her emotions in check, but her breath caught in her throat upon seeing him lying in the hospital bed. He was hooked up to various machines, oxygen, IV, and a heart monitor. The heart monitor was beeping steadily letting them know he was stable, at least for the time being. Molly swallowed the fear in her throat and went to the side of the bed to hold Sherlock's hand. It was cool to the touch, but his steady pulse gave her some comfort. John cleared his throat nervously as he stood next to her.

They sat down in chairs near the bed and silently watched Sherlock, almost as if they were waiting for him to speak first even though they knew he couldn't. It seemed odd to be in Sherlock's presence without hearing his constant chatter. Molly was about to ask John what the doctors had said, but when she looked over at him she saw he was nodding off in his chair. It had been a hell of a night for him and his body needed rest.

"John" she said nudging him awake. "Why don't you go home and get some sleep. I'll stay with him. You've had a rough night."

John looked like he was about to protest, but he was too exhausted.

"I call you if anything happens. Promise."

He nodded and stumbled out the door with one last worried look back at Sherlock and Molly.

When John left, Molly felt all her emotions suddenly return. She had buried them due to the initial shock and trying to stay strong for John, but now, being alone in the room with him made it all real. Her eyes flooded with tears and this time she didn't try to fight them. She dragged a chair to the side of his bed and rested her forehead on his side of his thigh while holding his hand in both of hers. She allowed herself to release all of the tension she had been holding on to since morning. All of the anger, frustration, sadness, and ache that had built up within her was finally let go. The thought of her last conversation with him made her squeeze his hand tighter. She cried until there was nothing left and fell asleep in utter exhaustion.

* * *

><p>"Molly?" A nudge on her shoulder awoke her. Bleary-eyed she looked up and saw John standing by her side, holding out a cup a coffee.<p>

"Oh, thanks." She said, sitting up too quickly causing a pain to shoot down her spine. Her sleeping position had given her a stiff back and a headache. The hot coffee helped bring some relief, terrible tasting as it was. After years of drinking it, hospital coffee was a familiar taste and was oddly comforting.

John was looking at her funny. He had found her sleeping with her head on Sherlock's leg and could probably tell she'd been crying due to her swollen, puffy eyes. But whatever he was thinking, he didn't reveal.

"So any changes?"

"No." She looked at Sherlock. He looked exactly the same as the night before, the heart monitor was still beeping, and he was still breathing steadily.

"I think it's my turn to tell you to go home and get some real sleep. I talked to the nurses and they said they are keeping him under sedation for at least the rest of today. I'll stay with him, and Mary's coming by later. She just got home."

Molly started to nod, but a sharp pain in her head made her grimace.

"Molly, don't worry. I'll call you the second anything happens. I've already called Mike Stamford and let him know what's going on with Sherlock. He told me to tell you not to bother going to work today." John put a friendly hand on her shoulder and gave her an earnest smile. The sleep had rejuvenated him. She wondered what John could see in her eyes with a clear mind. John was now aware of Janine being part of the case, but she was fairly sure he didn't know anything about Sherlock's arrangement of staying in her flat when Janine was at Baker Street. He had been on his honeymoon for most of it and made no indication that he was in on the secret.

Molly stood up to leave and took one last look at Sherlock. She was used to hospitals, but actually seeing someone she cared about in one was overwhelming. It brought back memories of her father's last days, which was not a time that she enjoyed reliving. Sherlock looked so innocent and peaceful, the opposite of his usual self. Her heart broke when she thought of what he had gone through. It showed just how dangerous his job really was.

Before she could stop herself, she leaned over him, standing on her tiptoes, and gently placed a kiss on his forehead. As she stood for a minute hovering over his face, she silently prayed that he would make a full recovery. It might have been her imagination, but she thought she felt his hand twitch ever so slightly against her own. She gave his hand a squeeze in return, hoping there was some way he could feel it and know that there were people who cared for him.

"I'm here for you, Sherlock. Don't ever forget that." She whispered softly in his ear.

Timidly, she looked over at John wondering if he had heard. But John had turned towards the window, giving her privacy, and she couldn't read his face.

Surely, John knew. It didn't take much deducing to see how Molly felt about Sherlock. It was surely written all over her face. _Love_.

* * *

><p>Outside the blinding sun only increased the throbbing in her head. Her phone said it was 11:40. She hailed a cab and saw a text from Mike Stamford telling her to get some rest. As tired and sore as she was, she had been looking forward to the distraction of work. It would have been nice to give her mind something else to focus on instead of going to an empty flat.<p>

Molly arrived home and collapsed on the sofa. She didn't even have the strength to make it to her bedroom. Toby was more than happy to snuggle with her and she buried her face in his soft fur.

The next few days passed unremarkably. John had called her the following day to say that Sherlock had woken up and seemed to be his usual, chatty self, although the painkillers made him somewhat incoherent. Molly decided she would wait to visit him. She didn't want to be another emotional mess, especially if he was awake to see it. The next day came and went and she decided she still wasn't ready to face him. Then the next day passed.

Molly had resumed her routine of going to work and coming home with the addition of frequent check-ins with John. He had understood that she couldn't see him yet, although there was a touch of surprise in his voice. Molly couldn't explain the feeling except that she just wasn't ready.

On his fourth day in the hospital, Sherlock texted her: _Molly, I need you. -SH_

If she was being summoned, then it must be something important. She took off a few hours early from work and went straight to the hospital.

Sherlock was sitting up in bed, still hooked up to the heart monitor and an IV, but minus the oxygen. He looked weak, but some of the color had returned to his cheeks. She stood nervously in the doorway making brief eye contact with him before she entered the room. He smiled at her, which helped relieve some of the tension she felt.

"So I hear from John that I didn't spend the first night alone." Leave it to Sherlock to cut to the chase.

"Yes. I'm sorry I haven't been to visit since. I just…I couldn't…." She didn't know if she wanted to open up to him while he was still healing.

Sherlock waved his hand to dismiss her apology. "I don't blame anyone who doesn't want to come to these awful places. Working in one is one thing, but staying in one with meddling nurses is another."

He paused. "Molly, I'm the one who needs to apologize. The way I treated you that day…" He shook his head. "You were right. We were working on that case together. When I woke up that morning in your flat, I panicked. I had never found myself in that…position before. It was…nice and that scared me." He seemed to be grasping for the right words. "And I'm sorry for that comment about your engagement. I was very rude to you that day. I hadn't planned on using drugs, but after our argument I just felt…alone. I'm sorry."

Molly felt her cheeks blush.

"I have a problem with sabotaging my relationships." He gazed at her, looking sad. "Speaking of which…" He gestured towards his lap which was covered with various newspapers.

Molly walked over to the side of the bed and noticed the headline on one of the papers. _7 Times a Night in Baker Street_. She grabbed the paper to make sure she was reading it correctly.

"Yes, well, let's just say Janine was not too pleased when she found out the truth."

"It appears that she got her revenge and I can't say I blame her, Sherlock."

He smiled. "Yes. The proposal…"

"Proposal? Sherlock, don't tell me you proposed!" So this was part of the plan that he hadn't wanted her to know about either.

"Well, I had to get her to let me into the office _somehow_." He pouted.

"Oh, Sherlock..." Molly couldn't believe what he'd done. She felt bad for Janine.

"Unfortunately, I can't worry about that now. Molly, I need you."

"Sure. What is it?" She figured he needed her to fetch something from Baker Street.

"I need you to help me break out of here."

She blinked. "What?"

He repeated the words, straight-faced. It wasn't a joke.

"But…why?"

"It's a little complicated to explain, but there's a good reason I promise. Now, I need you to distract the nurses while I…"

"Wait, Sherlock, what is going on? You just got shot a few days ago. You're recovering from surgery. Your body's been through major trauma. Do you need me to keep listing reasons why this is a bad idea?"

"Molly, I'm perfectly capable." He sat up straighter and immediately clutched his side, grimacing in pain. "Anyways, it's necessary that I leave at once. I heard John say he was bringing by Lestrade later tonight and I need to be gone before they arrive."

Molly couldn't believe this. Sherlock noticed her hesitancy to assist him.

"Does this have anything to do with the person who shot you?"

"Yes. Molly, do you trust me?"

She sighed. "Of course, but…"

"I promise that I will come back to the hospital later, but there is something I need to take care of, something I need to fix."

Molly listened to his escape plan and somehow found herself agreeing to help with it.

While Sherlock unhooked himself from the machines and changed into his clothes, Molly went to the nurse's station appearing to be looking for another patient. Luckily, none of the nurses had been on-call the night she stayed with Sherlock and didn't appear to recognize her. While she distracted them, Sherlock grabbed some morphine from a nearby supply closet and snuck into the elevator. When he made it outside, he sent Molly a text. At the sound of her phone, she immediately apologized to the nurses for appearing to have the wrong floor and made her escape. She felt like a criminal. Here she was a doctor helping a patient escape. If anyone found out, she would probably lose her job. When the elevator stopped at each floor, she almost expected someone to stop her, but no one did.

Outside she found Sherlock hunched over on a bench. She hailed a cab as quickly as possible and had it wait while she helped Sherlock make his way over to it. He put his arm on her shoulders and leaned against her so heavily that she wasn't sure she would be able to manage his weight. He was so much bigger than her and it was a struggle for her not to lose her balance while keeping him upright. Somehow they made it to the car where the cab driver gave Molly a concerned look.

"He's fine. He just felt a little sick that's all. You know how hospitals are. I mean visiting someone in the hospital, which is what we were doing…" She always rambled when lying. Thankfully, the cab driver didn't ask any questions and sped away quickly. When the hospital was out of sight, Molly breathed a sigh of relief.

Sherlock was so weak. He looked like he was going to pass out. At one point, he almost did and leaned against her shoulder with his full body weight. She gently slapped his cheeks to keep him awake.

"Sherlock, are you ok? We're almost there."

"Fine…fine." He sat up too quickly and immediately grabbed his side. She noticed when his coat was pulled back that he was wearing the clothes he had been shot in. She could see a glimpse of a bloody shirt. The thought made her sick to her stomach.

They reached her flat. Molly managed to push Sherlock out the door and lean him against the car while she paid the driver. Who knows what that man was thinking? He probably thought he had assisted in some crime, which would be accurate. Thankfully, he kept his mouth shut and immediately took off.

With Sherlock in front of her, Molly was able to push him up the stairs to her flat. Toby greeted them at the door, excited to see his favorite visitor. She led Sherlock to her bedroom, figuring it would give him more space to relax. He collapsed onto the bed before she could take his coat off. She had to roll him over on his side to take it and his suit jacket off, being careful to avoid his wounded area. After rearranging him with his head back on the pillow, she removed his shoes and drew the comforter over his legs.

"Molly. Morphine." He weakly pointed to his coat pocket.

She found the vial in his pocket along with a syringe. Of course, Sherlock had thought of everything. She drew up a dose, quickly disinfected his arm, and injected the needle into the vein in his arm. The effect was almost immediate and the pain on his faced eased considerably.

"Molly…Molly…" He repeated her name softly before falling asleep.

Molly sat on the edge of the bed feeling completely exhausted. Her head throbbed and she tried to rub her temples to soothe the pain. What was she doing? More importantly, what was _he_ doing? Why was it so necessary for him to leave the hospital before John and Lestrade showed up?

Sherlock slept for the next couple hours. Molly monitored him closely, ready to call emergency services at a moment's notice if anything looked wrong. She worried about the stress to his wound and decided to check it. Gently, she undid the buttons on his shirt and carefully worked it off of his body. The pale skin of his chest felt warm. She worried that he had a fever with all the stress he had just put his body through. The wound had started to bleed through the bandage so she carefully removed the tape and pulled back the gauze. Molly was used to blood and nasty injuries, but she gasped to herself at the sight of the injury to his abdomen. The doctors had done a nice job stitching him up, but it was still a nasty looking wound. She retrieved her first-aid kit and managed to stop the bleeding for the time being before applying a new bandage. She prayed that it would last until he could get back to the hospital.

Molly climbed onto the other side of the bed and placed a blanket over the top of both of them. She lay awake listening to the sound of his steady breathing, thankful that he was getting some much needed rest.

Sherlock woke up a few hours later looking a little improved. He sat up, realizing that he was now shirtless and that she was lying next to him. He raised an eyebrow at her, but remained silent.

Molly got up and went to his side of the bed to check his pulse.

"I replaced your bandage. You had started to bleed again."

He was watching her intensely.

"When I was shot, I pictured you leading me through the steps for survival. You helped me decide which way to fall." He smiled at her and leaned his head back against the wall.

"Me? Well, I guess it would help to think what a doctor would tell you to do in that situation."

His face turned serious.

"It wasn't just that though. You kept me calm and focused. It saved my life."

She met his eyes. His pulse might be normal, but hers was steadily rising.

Sherlock swung his legs over the side of the bed and clutched the wounded area of his chest.

"I need you to text Bill Wiggins. Tell him to meet me in Leinster Gardens at eight o'clock. I've already had him take care of a few things for me at Baker Street."

She grabbed his phone out of his coat pocket and sent the message.

"Sherlock, it's seven o'clock now."

He gingerly started to put on his shirt.

"I need to go."

"You can't go now. You're too weak. Maybe I can go for you."

"No, I have to be there." His face looked pained as he slowly put on his shoes and jacket. "Molly, I need you to go back to Bart's and pretend like everything's normal. If anyone comes asking about my whereabouts, tell them anything. Tell them the truth." He smiled at her. "They probably would never believe it anyways."

"Why are you hiding from John and Lestrade?'

"Like I said before, it's complicated. But I promise I will tell you everything as soon as I am able. It won't be like the last time."

Molly helped him out the door and hailed a cab. She got in behind him, ignoring his protests that he was fine on his own. After a silent ride, they reached Leinster Gardens and saw Bill Wiggins standing on the sidewalk.

"Sherlock, I don't know what you're doing, but be careful."

"I will." Before getting out of the cab, he leaned in close to her face. Molly, expecting a kiss on the cheek, was caught off guard when he pressed his lips to her forehead. He placed his hands on the sides of her head, gently smoothing back her hair, and gave her a smile.

"Molly Hooper," he whispered, staring directly into her eyes. It was as though he knew about her kiss in the hospital and was returning it. Her heart began to race. She wanted nothing more than to grab his face and kiss him until she ran out of breath. She wanted to protect him from whatever danger he was getting himself into. She just wanted _him_, wholly and selfishly all to herself. Before she could say anything back, he was out the door.

The cab jerked forward bringing her back to reality. Out the window, she saw Sherlock and Bill heading towards one of the buildings.

_What was happening?_ Molly felt like things were once again spinning out of control and all she could do was trust that Sherlock knew what he was doing.


	3. Chapter 3

_A quick note: Thank you for all the nice comments and follows! This is only the second story I've published, and the first multi-chapter, so I know I have a lot to improve on with my writing (like for instance learning the correct British terms for things-I'm working on that) and I really appreciate the feedback! Thanks again for reading! _

_And without further ado here's the conclusion..._

* * *

><p>Staying true to his word, Sherlock ended up back in the hospital that same evening. He had taken care of his necessary errand before collapsing at Baker Street due to internal bleeding. John and Mary had been with him when the ambulance was called which had surprised Molly. She didn't even find out about it until the following morning when Sherlock texted her from his hospital bed. She tried calling John to get the details, but he wouldn't answer his mobile.<p>

Molly visited Sherlock as often as she could. The ordeal had restored their friendship, but Molly noticed something was now wrong with John and Mary. She could only decipher that a huge argument had taken place that night. They barely spoke in each other's presence and the air was thick with tension. Sherlock wouldn't say what had happened between them, only that everything had gone to his satisfaction and that he would tell Molly when they had sorted it out. Apparently, he was leaving it up to John and Mary to fix things.

This time Sherlock stayed in the hospital until he was released. The doctors and nurses had naturally been furious with him for running off and he was kept under strict surveillance. Sherlock insisted that he had acted alone, which thankfully left Molly free from suspicion.

Sherlock returned to Baker Street and for the next few months life returned remarkably back to normal. While he was still weak and recovering, Sherlock only took cases "less than a six" that didn't require him to leave the flat. Molly visited several times a week offering assistance with the cases and often brought him the leftover results of her Bart's experiments with body parts to help with his boredom. John was at Baker Street even more often than Molly and usually seemed distracted and irritable. When Molly tried to ask about Mary, she only received curt, one-worded answers. No matter what John said everything obviously was not "fine".

One day after being frustrated by John's non-answers, Molly decided to visit Mary and see if she could get her side of the story. On a gray and dreary day, she showed up at the Watson's flat unannounced and was received with a wide-eyed look from Mary. She looked shocked as if Molly was the last person she expected to see. After the initial surprise, Mary warmed up and let Molly in the door cheerfully. They shared a pleasant conversation about unrelated topics over tea and biscuits and gradually the anxiety on Mary's face diminished. Mary seemed pleased to have someone to talk to, although Molly could tell that Mary was holding onto a secret. It looked as though several times she wanted to tell Molly something before stopping herself and changing the subject. Molly couldn't imagine what was going on between her and John that would have caused this tension. Their wedding had been beautiful, albeit for the attempted murder of Major Sholto. She had seen a couple that was obviously so in love and meant to be together. How quickly things had changed.

Feeling emboldened after their conversation as she was leaving, Molly asked Mary directly if there was anything she could do to help them. It was hard to read Mary, but there was a sense of worry in her eyes. Molly's heart went out to her and she gave her a hug. Mary hadn't exactly returned the embrace, but she smiled and thanked Molly for her concern. Once Molly was outside and nearly reached the street, Mary ran after her.

"It's my fault. I'm not sure that John will ever forgive me. I'm not sure you would forgive me if you knew the truth, Molly. But at the same time, I did something to protect my family," she paused and rubbed her rounded belly. "I don't regret that at all. But now I don't know what's going to happen. If only he hadn't…" She shook her head and didn't say another word.

Molly had been baffled by this cryptic answer. Why did Mary include her in it? What did she need to protect her family from? She was now more confused than ever about what had transpired that night.

When his strength returned after a few weeks, Sherlock and John were back to their usual routine of wandering around London solving cases and visiting Scotland Yard and Molly saw him less. Instead, she spent her weekly Baker Street visits with Mrs. Hudson sharing pots of tea, learning new baking skills, and getting caught up on the neighborhood gossip.

Sometimes weeks would pass in which Molly didn't see Sherlock at all and their communication was carried out via late night texts. Other times, mostly when he was between cases, she saw him quite regularly. He would spend long hours at the Bart's lab and even some nights at her flat. Some nights he stayed over and slept on her couch, other nights he left after she fell asleep. There was little physical contact between them. The night they shared on the couch together several weeks ago had become a distant memory. The air still felt charged with electricity whenever they were together, but neither acted on it. Molly felt like Sherlock was holding back, like he was waiting for something. What that _something_ was she didn't know. Technically, he was still working on the Magnussen case, although it had stalled. Molly figured that something related to the case was the reason for his hesitance to become more involved with her. It felt like they were in a momentary purgatory, stuck between what had happened and what could potentially.

Sherlock obviously enjoyed his time at Molly's flat or she knew he wouldn't spend so much time there. They still had an easy relationship and talked for hours at a time, but Molly didn't feel that she could share her feelings with him quite yet. She had been so prepared and had planned what she was going to say, but when things had been turned upside-down her plans had been pushed aside. But now the holidays were quickly approaching and Molly felt that perhaps her chance would finally come.

* * *

><p>The chance did not come.<p>

It was Christmas Day and Molly was once again spending it alone. At least this year she wasn't spending it at the morgue.

Her mother had invited her to spend the day with her family, but Molly just felt like she would be an intruder. After her father passed away, her mother had remarried and moved to northern England. It wasn't the ends of the earth, but it might as well have been. Her mother was now busy raising a new family, as her husband had two teenage children from a previous marriage. It was a family that Molly didn't feel a part of. They were great kids and Molly enjoyed spending time with them, but she didn't ever feel that any of it was _hers_. She didn't belong.

Meena had also invited Molly over to her family's Christmas dinner, as she did every year, but Molly had politely declined. Christmas was a time for being with loved ones and she would rather be on her own than with someone else's family.

What Molly really had wanted was to spend the day with Sherlock. However, he was not at Baker Street, but instead had decided to visit his parents and had brought John and Mary with him. Molly had found it odd. In all the years she had known him, she had never heard of Sherlock spending time at his parents' voluntarily. He had mumbled something about fixing a marriage, but when Molly asked him about it he changed the subject. Sherlock was not the traditional sort of person when it came to holidays. Something was unusual about the way he had suddenly decided go off to the countryside. Molly thought maybe he would invite her knowing that she wanted to meet his parents and that otherwise she would be spending it alone. However, the topic was not mentioned again. She had tried not to be disappointed, but she couldn't help it.

Molly comforted herself with her favorite Christmas movies and by baking cookies. With her flat smelling like cinnamon and Toby curled up next to her, she came to the conclusion that it wasn't such a bad way to spend the day. In the evening, she had a long conversation on the phone with her mother. It helped to fill the hole in her heart, although the sound of laughter in the background only reminded her of the loneliness. Still, she had people to love even if they weren't near her at the moment and that was more than some people had.

Halfway through _It's a Wonderful Life_, her mobile chirped. She looked at the clock and saw it was just after midnight. With bleary eyes, she looked at the screen wondering who would be contacting her so late on Christmas. It was a text from Mycroft: _My brother requests your immediate presence at Baker Street. - M. Holmes_

Molly couldn't help but feel worry. For Mycroft to text her, it must be something major. The only times he had contacted her previously were regarding plans for Sherlock's faked death.

When the cab pulled up to 221B, Molly could tell something was indeed wrong. There were two armed guards standing by the door and police cars lining the street. She nervously approached the building.

"I'm Molly Hooper, here to see Sherlock." She tried not to let her voice waiver. One of the men spoke her name into his radio. The person on the other end must have given approval, because she was let in the door. Molly ran up the stairs as quickly as possible. Her heart was beating so fast she thought she would pass out. _What kind of trouble was he in this time?_

There was another guard standing outside of Sherlock's door. He nodded and let her in.

Sherlock and Mycroft were both standing alertly, like they had been pacing around the room and stopped upon her entrance.

"What's going on?" She asked, looking from one brother to the other.

Mycroft pointed to Sherlock's chair with his umbrella.

"Have a seat, Miss Hooper."

She sat down not knowing what else to do. Sherlock was standing by the fireplace. His expression was unreadable. He had not taken his eyes off of her since she had entered the room.

No one spoke. Mycroft was looking at Sherlock as if he was waiting for him to speak first. When he didn't, Mycroft sighed and began to put on his coat.

"My brother has something to tell you, Miss Hooper, that may come as a shock to you. I trust that you'll keep this information to yourself as you have done in the past. I will be waiting downstairs."

Mycroft left the room. Sherlock remained unmoved, but he now wouldn't look at her.

"Sherlock?" She asked quietly.

With a deep breath, he began walking around the room aimlessly, before finally grabbing the footstool and bringing it over so it was positioned directly in front of her. He sat down on it and took her hand with both of his.

"Molly, tonight I did something wrong. I don't regret it. It was done to protect my friends, but it has gotten me in trouble with the law."

Molly didn't know how to respond so he continued, not dropping his gaze at her for an instant.

"I killed someone. Charles August Magnussen to be exact. I did it to protect Mary and John."

"Mary and John?"

Sherlock nodded and proceeded to tell her everything about the night he was shot, Leinster Gardens, and Magnussen's mind palace.

Molly couldn't believe it. It seemed too unreal. _Mary was a former assassin?_ _She shot Sherlock?_

"If I didn't destroy Magnussen, he would have destroyed Mary and subsequently John. I miscalculated his abilities. I was left with only one choice. It was either that or Mary goes to prison."

Molly felt her eyes tear up at the sacrifice Sherlock had made for his friends and the consequences he would now be facing. It was at the same time heroic and stupid. Sherlock was a murderer. Whether he had done it for Mary and John or not, he still killed someone and there would be punishment. He had acted impulsively and now…

"What happens now?"

Sherlock released her hand and started to pace around the room.

"Well, as you've seen, I am under house arrest for the time being. In a few days, I will be heading off to Europe for an undercover mission. Mycroft has to get approval, but it appears that I will be able to avoid prison."

He stopped in his tracks and once again came over to sit in front of her.

"Molly, I don't plan on returning. I'm not going to lie to you. I can't…" He bowed his head, fighting back tears. "Molly, this is the last time I will see you."

Molly stood up and released her hand from his grip.

"No…No…You don't mean that. I don't believe you."

"Molly…"

"No, Sherlock. This is part of some crazy plan. You're trying to throw me off."

"I only wish that were true…"

"You wouldn't do this to me. Not after everything…" Molly didn't care if she was in denial. She refused to believe that this was now their reality.

"Molly, please believe me."

"No, I won't." She felt her eyes fill with tears and headed to the door. "I can't deal with this. I need to leave."

"Molly, please don't go. Not like this." He came over to her, pleading with his eyes.

She gave a pained, forced smile. "I _will_ see you again, Sherlock." She marched out the door without looking back.

Mycroft was standing outside, smoking a cigarette.

"I assume he's told you everything."

"Yes." She began pacing on the sidewalk nervously.

He took a puff and watched her. "I know you'll be discreet, Miss Hooper. You've proven yourself to be a reliable…friend to Sherlock. I see that you're angry and I don't blame you. My brother has gotten himself into quite a mess."

Molly stopped and took a deep breath. "Mycroft, I don't believe you or Sherlock. I won't believe that you would send him off on some death mission. I know you love your brother, no matter what you might say."

"You deduction skills are improving I see, but I must send Sherlock on this mission. It's the only choice I have." He flicked the ash off of his cigarette and paused, looking at Molly carefully.

"I see the way my brother cares for you, Miss Hooper. I've seen it for a long time. At first, I must admit I thought him foolish. I've never felt that caring is an advantage, especially for a person like Sherlock. It only gets in the way of his extraordinary gifts. But you have proven yourself to be a worthy partner for him. Normally I would say happiness is irrelevant, but he has seemed to be…content lately. I've watched him go through difficult times and have had to be the one to pull him out of it. Since you've entered his life, he's changed. Despite the occurrence a few months ago that he insisted was for a case, I don't see him returning to those bad habits now that he has you. Although I suppose now that it doesn't matter…"

"Mycroft, do you believe that some people are meant to be together?"

He coughed. "I try not to worry myself with such matters."

"It's like…" she struggled with how to explain what she was feeling, "you know how in chemistry, certain atoms naturally bond with each other. It just happens. It's nature. Maybe people are like that too. I feel that Sherlock and I just…fit together and things have finally started working for us. It finally felt like we could be together, the way we were supposed to be and then everything went crazy. I just refuse to believe it ends like this. I can't. I won't."

Mycroft looked unsure how to respond.

"Miss H-Molly, I wish I could assist you in some way. I do try to look after my brother. I wish there was another way, but I think it would be crueler to let him sit in a jail cell."

He took another drag of the cigarette and pointed to a car waiting in front of the building.

"Please allow my driver to take you home." He looked at her sympathetically. "I'm sorry, Molly."

Molly got into the car, worried that she was wrong. What if this was the last time she would see him?

No, she refused to believe it. It hurt too much. Besides, something deep within her told her that this was not the end and if there was one thing she had learned it was that she should always trust her instinct.

* * *

><p>The day of Sherlock's departure arrived. Molly tried not to let her mind dwell on it. She was grateful to be at work and have a distraction. John and Mary were going to the airport to see him off along with Mycroft. She made John promise to tell her everything that was said. Although she was nervous, she still trusted her gut.<p>

In the afternoon, she wandered into the staff room, where much to her annoyance someone had left the telly on. As she walked over to turn it off, the screen suddenly flickered and a familiar face appeared. A face she hadn't wanted to see ever again.

"_Did you miss me_?"

No.

It couldn't be.

_Moriarty_.

She had seen Jim's corpse. She had handled it herself. The back of his head had been shot off. His blood had covered her hands. He was dead.

This had to be the work of someone else. But _who_?

Suddenly the flashing image and cartoon-like voice were gone and the normal talk show resumed. After being momentarily paralyzed, Molly wandered absent-mindedly back to the empty and darkened lab, trying to make sense of the situation in her mind. Was it someone connected to Moriarty? Did they know her secret about helping Sherlock? Would they come after her? The timing of it could not a coincidence. Someone knew Sherlock was leaving at this very moment. Was this their way of keeping him in London?

All of these questions were circling in her mind when suddenly the door to the lab burst open without warning breaking her out of her reverie. The light of the hallway revealed the outline of the familiar tall and curly-haired silhouette. He stood still for a minute letting his eyes adjust to the light before finally spotting her.

He strode towards her with his coat sweeping around him. When he reached her, he wrapped his long arms around her shoulders and crushed her against his body.

After a stunned second, she put her arms inside his coat wrapping them around his warm middle, savoring the feeling of his body.

It didn't matter what was happening. She had him back.

"Molly," he whispered her name into her hair, not letting go an inch. "You're all right."

Molly had no idea how much time passed before they pulled apart.

"I'm sorry, Molly. I'm sorry about acting without you. I'm sorry for not considering your feelings. I'm sorry for being an idiot and getting myself into this mess. I'm sorry for everything."

"I'm sorry too. About the other night…"

"You don't need to apologize. You were right. How did you know I would be coming back?"

"Don't you know I'm always right, Sherlock?" Molly couldn't help teasing despite the circumstance.

He smirked. "I think I'll need you to remind me everyday."

"Everyday?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.

"Unfortunately, you're stuck with me, Molly. England needs me. And I need _you_."

This was the second time he had said that three-letter word in this very room. The first time he was planning his death. This time...

"Are you back for good?"

"Yes. You're not getting rid of me now." He smiled before turning serious once again. "Mycroft figured I would last six months, but I was planning on lasting a lot longer than that. I was planning to come back to you. I just wanted to prepare you in case…I didn't. Nothing was guaranteed."

"I'm sorry I was so angry that night. It's only because I love you and I couldn't bare the thought that it was the last time I was going to see you. I just _knew_ deep down that there was more in store for us."

"Love? You love me?"

"Of course. I've loved you for so long, since that first day we worked together. I've wanted to tell you for a long time, but there's been so many obstacles. First, you fake your death and leave for two years. Then I tried to move on and got engaged, only to realize I was still in love with you when you returned. Then this whole mess with the Magnussen case and you getting shot…I wish you would've realized when I told you that one Christmas…"

"You mean when you wrote 'Love, Molly' you meant it?"

Molly smiled. "Yes. Of course I did, you bugger. If you hadn't been so focused on the fact that I had some mystery boyfriend, you might have seen it."

"I'll always regret what I said to you that night, Molly. God, I was so sure there was someone, it blinded me. When you walked in with your hair…and that dress…I just…"

"What you didn't think someone would ever dress up for you and give you gifts?"

"No."

"Sherlock, you may be a difficult bastard at times, but you're not unlovable. You're flawed, and have a bit of an ego. You talk too much at times, and have a temper…."

"Hey…"

"…but you're too hard on yourself. You are as worthy of love as anyone."

"I hope I can feel worthy of you someday. I feel like I have a lot to make up to you. In the meantime, will you accept my love, Molly?"

"You love _me_?"

"Of course, isn't it obvious?"

"I…"

"Molly, you see me more clearly than anyone."

"I know we have _something_, I just didn't know exactly what you felt."

"Perhaps we need to work on your deduction skills. Notice my pupils."

Molly stared into his eyes; the darkness nearly consumed the blue-green of his irises. "They're dilated."

"Correct. Now take my pulse." He had leaned in and spoke close to her ear, sending chills down her spine.

Molly swallowed and lifted two fingers to his neck. "Elevated." She could have been answering for her own pulse as well.

"Correct." Sherlock's voice had dropped so low that he was nearly growling with desire. Molly was almost trembling with anticipation.

After what felt like an infinity, he slowly brought his hands to the sides of her head, cradling it gently with his long fingers. His movements were so slow and delicate that Molly thought she would be driven mad by her want for his touch. Just when she felt herself on the brink, he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her with a passion and intensity that would have made her gasp if she had been able to breathe. His lips were as soft as she had imagined, but the sensation caused by his mouth on hers was greater than anything she could have dreamt of. It felt like an electric current was surging through her veins. The kiss started slowly as if Sherlock was trying to savor every second and commit it to memory. Molly felt like she had left her physical body and was falling through a void in which she had no desire to land. Instinctively, she raised her arms to grab something to ground herself and her hands landed in his hair. She had fantasized for so long about running her fingers through the silky curls and allowed her hands to explore the tangles. She gently pulled at it, making him groan deep in his throat. This reaction she had caused excited her and made her want more. The kiss deepened as their tongues became involved. Moans and ragged breathing intensified and neither were no longer concerned about holding anything back. Molly felt the heat of Sherlock's lower body as they pressed into one another. He led her to the edge of the table. Neither had any desire to stop.

Just as Sherlock was about to lift Molly onto the table, a voice broke through the haze forcing them at last to part their lips.

"I do hate to interrupt, but let me remind you both that the country is in danger, in case you hadn't forgotten."

Mycroft had entered the room and was smirking at the two of them.

"Damn it," Sherlock muttered under his breath and leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Molly's. They were both breathing heavily.

"I trust, little brother, that you haven't forgotten the situation we are currently facing."

"Of course not." Sherlock pulled his head back with his eyes never leaving Molly's. "I needed to get my partner-in-crime."

"I can see that. Hello, Miss Hooper."

Molly nodded at him sheepishly, unable to hide a smile.

Mycroft's mobile rang breaking the awkward moment. He gave a sigh after looking at the screen and immediately left the room. Molly could hear him giving orders regarding the hacked television screens to the person on the other end. It suddenly brought to mind what was happening.

"Who's out there, Sherlock? Who's doing this?"

Sherlock smiled tenderly and took Molly's hand.

"I don't know, and I don't like not knowing. But we're going to find out. First, I think we must find Mike Stamford and let him know that you are not going to be working the rest of the day. Then we're solving a case and then…"

"Then?"

"_Then_ we're having dinner." Sherlock raised an eyebrow and gave Molly a look that made her cheeks turn pink.

They strolled out of the lab hand-in-hand, ready to face whatever might come their way.

_Together_.

THE END


End file.
